I was jetlagged and pms’ing and had a nasty cold. Lyon was cold and rainy all day, and my plans of wandering around the city while David was in work meetings quickly turned into me wandering from cafe to cafe trying to stay warm.

I thought if I could just be at our apartment instead of living out of the same suitcase I’ve been using for the last two months, schlepping it from hotel to David’s brothers house, to another hotel, I would feel better, but even there, with my cat and my own bed I felt restless.

The only time I was calm was when I was moving, walking to the store, taking the metro to Gare de Lyon, the taxi to the Orly airport. Sitting on a train. The awkward, uncomfortable feeling I had during my first year here, never confident if I was doing things right, came back. I felt unsure about everything I did. Certain that I stuck out like a sore thumb. I didn’t even want to get bread from the boulangerie. I stumbled over my change and struggled to understand what the cashier was saying to me.

When I was in California, I wanted to be in Paris. And now that I’m in Paris, I want to be in California. And neither place feels like home anymore. I don’t care about finishing the kitchen or the rest of the apartment. Even Maza looked small and dull when I finally saw her after being gone for so long. She looked at me, and then looked at David like, “Who the hell is this person and why is she in our living room”. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

Four days later we were in the Pyrenees for David’s birthday.

The most exciting thing we did was go to the roman baths. There was nothing else to do but hike, and we didn’t bring hiking shoes.

I tried to take a picture of it empty, but it looked pretty ghetto.

Our cell phones kept beeping to let us know we were out of France and roaming. Which is how we discovered the small country of Andorra (which was just one big duty-free shop)

3 different languages

spanish Coke

and an enclave of Spain Llivia. Both of which we could see from the car while we were driving around.

Four different languages

But looking over those three countries, instead of being grateful, all I thought was that there was a sea of people as far as the eye can see who can’t understand the words coming out of my mouth.

Instead of just French, now I was surrounded by three languages I didn’t understand. It made me feel more alone. More isolated. And I felt guilty that I was traveling and seeing the world and I wasn’t even enjoying it.

A few days of doing absolutely nothing but driving around, soaking in hot springs, walking and eating, I was finally able to relax and unwind. I was so tightly coiled I didn’t even feel the tension until it was gone. It was just me and my sweetie and that was nice. That was home.